Never Have I Ever
by ryviane
Summary: Sometimes, Bella thinks about things that never happened.
1. Chapter 1

**Never Have I Ever**

* * *

Bella never had a sleepover at Rosalie Hale's house.

...

It's something I might have done if I were in the popular clique and I know exactly how it would have gone down.

I'm eleven and excited, Rosalie's twelve and already way too old for this. Rosalie's mom wouldn't let Jasper invite a bunch of his friends over the same night causing him to hide in his room all night. The lack of boys puts Rosalie in a bad mood which she takes out on everyone until she gets bored with that, too.

We play Truth or Dare and I find myself making out with the back of her hand, but I've gotten off easy. One girl had to call the lamest boy in school and ask him out and I would have rather died.

I dare Rosalie to answer the door when the pizza guy gets there wearing her underwear on the outside of her clothes and Rosalie loves it — which I knew she would. All of us pose for cute pictures and then someone's demonstrating blowjob techniques on a Coke bottle. No one ever gets around to telling any truths. It's probably a good thing because I don't have anything to tell.

...

The thing is, Rosalie Hale never looked at Bella twice when she was eleven. Or when she was any age, actually. Rosalie was Queen Bee and Bella was a weird kid with her nose stuck in a book.

Bella's not bitter about it or anything — that's just the way of life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Never Have I Ever**

* * *

Bella never cut class to share a cigarette with Rosalie Hale in the girl's bathroom.

...

Probably just as well. It's a little _Degrassi Junior High_ , that image, where I sit on the counter, leaning against the mirror while Rosalie checks her makeup. Rosalie calls me Isabella because no one else does and she knows I won't tell her to stop. I listen to her bitch about French class, and then I bitch about Calculus and we're both just glad to be out of there.

There's this one time, I'm already lit up when Rosalie comes in, searching through her bag.

"Shit, Jasper took my cigarettes again. My god, that boy is lame."

Rosalie stares pointedly at me, but I simply shrug my shoulders. "Last one, sorry."

So she steps up beside me, bumps shoulders and looks even more pointedly from me to the cigarette in my hand. I roll my eyes and hand it over. Rosalie's lip gloss stains the filter and I pretend not to notice, just standing there passing it back and forth till it's gone.

We're both there just for something to do, though I would claim it's for a nicotine hit to get me through my next period. We get to know each other, sort of, the way it's sometimes easier talking to a stranger than someone close. Then Rosalie goes away to college and no one ever knows I had this with her. She never told anyone and neither did I.

...

But Bella doesn't smoke, she has never smoked, and the bathrooms at school are fitted with smoke detectors so kids who want to light up have to go outside like the rest of America. And let's be real, if Bella ever saw Rosalie Hale in the girl's room it was because they both needed to pee. Rosalie was the kind of girl who said "Excuse me, god!" at the top of her voice just to see younger girls scatter. She never had to wait for her turn at the sink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Never Have I Ever**

* * *

Bella didn't go to the prom with Rosalie Hale.

...

Well, no. Of course I didn't.

But I can just see it, how Rosalie dumps her various boyfriends' collective asses and starts to plan her big lesbian debut on the Forks High social scene. She slides in to sit next to the dykiest looking girl in school during lunchtime and asks me to be her prom date.

"I'm not—"

"You are," she insists, "And it's perfect. You're perfect because everyone thinks this is a joke. They're not taking me seriously, but if I show up with an actual lesbian? Hello! Best. Prom picture. Ever."

"I don't want to be a joke," I say, kind of pissed off about all the assuming that's going on right now. "Do you even know my name?"

"It's Isabella," she says, and leans in so close towards me. Rosalie's lips actually touch my ear when she talks. "And hey Isabella? I'm so incredibly over boys."

But I don't say yes, not the first time Rosalie asks or the second. I do have some pride, after all, and I'm not dumb enough to think Rosalie's actually serious.

The second time she asks — "Oh come on, you know you want to," big blue eyes and a wheedling tone as she leans next to my locker — it's hard not to smile but I went through a Stephen King kick a few years back, and I saw _Carrie_ about a hundred times. I know how this ends, with pigs blood and public humiliation, only without the satisfaction of setting my classmates on fire with my eyes.

So I tell her no again, slam my locker shut and I think I can actually hear her stamp her foot as I walk away.

The third time, though, she shows up at my door in a tuxedo that must have been made for a twelve year old.

I stand there in my sweats and slippers, staring as she announces, "I look like freaking Avril Lavigne. You have to go with me."

She does. And I do.

She buys me a corsage to match my dress, there's slow dancing and our picture, as Rosalie predicted, ends up on the front page of the school paper. Neither of us will ever live it down, but my second date with Rosalie is a far more conventional dinner-and-a-movie deal and I could care less, at this point.

...

It's nice to think about how it could have been if Bella ever actually made it to Forks High prom. It would have never been like that, because real life never is, but it might have been nice, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Never Have I Ever**

* * *

Bella didn't lose her virginity to Rosalie Hale.

...

Again, this should come as a surprise to no one. Still, I can't help but think about all the trouble it might have saved me if my first sexual experience was with Rosalie instead of in a shitty room in a Motel 6 with my lab partner.

Talk about a no-brainer.

In my fantasy, I work up the nerve to talk to Rosalie at a party.

I don't go to a lot of parties. It's not that I'm anti-social, exactly, more like the social scene is anti-me. But this is my fantasy and it's just as likely that I be at a party with Rosalie Hale as I would be talking to her.

She's by herself, drinking and surveying the beach like it and everyone on it are beneath her notice. And I walk up to her and say hi.

She blinks up at me a moment, smiles faintly, and sips from her beer bottle. "Hey. I know you, you're that girl..."

That girl whose nose is always stuck in a book, I fill in the rest of the sentence when she doesn't seem to be forthcoming. With the crappy car? With no friends? Who never talks to anyone?

"Bella," I say.

"I like your hair," she says. "Take a damn seat."

So I do, and I sit there not really drinking my stale beer and listen to Rosalie talk.

"I'm going to college in a few weeks." It's the end of summer, that's what this thing is all about - I'm heading back to Forks High for my senior year and she's heading off for parts unknown. "Finally getting the hell out of this place forever."

She says it like it explains everything and I remember that I don't actually know Rosalie Hale, and that I never will. I think I should say something, ask her where she's going to college, what she's been doing over the summer, something.

She touches my hair, though, combing her fingers through the curls that are dyed blue. And what do I say to that? Rosalie knows, "It's never been purple. I've seen it red and green and orange..."

"Thought it'd be too obvious, I guess."

She sprawls back artfully, tossing her head. "If I went neo-goth, what color would I dye my hair?"

"Um," I try to picture it, it isn't too hard, "Pink? Definitely pink."

"God, it's like you've known me my whole life." She smiles and grabs my arm as she sits forward again and jumps up in one motion, pulling me up with her. "Come on," she says.

I'm leaning up against the hood of a car in the parking lot and I don't know whose car it is, just that it's not mine. There are people around but Rosalie kisses me like she doesn't care if anyone's watching.

It's her car, apparently, and she pulls me in with her. In the back seat, it's quiet and still unlike the party just a few meters away. I'm not skinny enough or pretty enough or normal enough for this, I think as I touch Rosalie Hale the way I've never touched anyone but myself. But her fingers are undoing the button of my jeans and her breath is warm on my face as she removes my clothing, and I can't believe this is happening.

Her lips are warm and inviting, they are everywhere making my skin tingle with need. Rosalie smirks as she crawls down to my wet cunt. She rubs and licks and sucks. Her fingers and tongue make me forget my name. I'm thrusting my hips into her face, moaning for more, and crying out her name when the pleasure becomes too much and she's tipped me over the edge.

...

But no, that was just a fantasy. Bella's first time wasn't like that. Instead, it takes years of confusion, Edward Cullen, and college to figure out what Rosalie Hale would have dragged out of Bella in five minutes flat. And at least Rosalie wouldn't have had trouble getting it up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Never Have I Ever**

* * *

Once, I stood in line at a vegan café and Rosalie Hale was in front of me.

They had the best lentil burgers in Forks at that place, but that day I assumed Rosalie wasn't as interested in the food as she was in irritating her parents by going on a vegan kick. I still do, assume, that is. Maybe she was a tofu-loving hippie, I don't know. And I could've asked her about it, but I didn't.

Anyway, the line was longish and Rosalie seemed bored, and after playing with her cell phone for a while she started looking around. That's when she noticed me behind her, and blinked in recognition.

"I know you," she said, "You're that girl-"

"Can I help you?" the guy behind the counter said just then, and Rosalie turned back around to make her order instead of talking to me.

And that was it.

I never found out what she was going to say. It probably wasn't anything all that interesting, anyway. Maybe it was even slightly offensive in some careless, snobby way. But it always bugged me and now I'll never know just what kind of girl I was to a girl like Rosalie Hale.


End file.
